


From A Single Spark

by Thorinsmut



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Complete, Istion is the Elf played by Jed Brophy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Public indecency, Rough Sex, Smut, and ending on true love, because I'm fluffy, voyerism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:15:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lindir accidentally sees two of the Dwarves having sex when they visit Rivendell.<br/>Having only been exposed to gentle, affectionate sex before, he is unprepared for how rough it is, and how erotic he finds that.<br/>Luckily, Istion is a bit of an expert at rough sex. </p><p>(Jed Brophy played an Elf in ROTK. He's very pretty as an Elf. I want to write him having sex.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lindir Sees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frabbity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frabbity/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Axe Omakes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/709351) by [Thorinsmut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut). 



> The first chapter was originally posted in my Axe Omakes fic, before I moved it here when I decided to expand on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter is Dwalin/Nori smut... Dwarves will not be featuring in future chapters.

Lindir had been assigned to keep an eye on the Dwarves during their stay in Rivendell, and while many Elves would have been put out by the task, he was pleased. He had never had a chance to observe the culture and behavior of Aule's children before.

Lord Elrond had told him to stay out of their way for the most part, to observe from a distance and make any necessary changes as discreetly as possible. He was told not to interfere with them unless they did something truly dangerous.

Lindir perched comfortably high up on a cliff face, dressed in light breeches and a tunic for climbing, and wrapped in a large gray-green cloak that would disguise him from all but the keenest eyes. He watched the Dwarves, sure in the knowledge that they could not see him.

They were fascinating.

They were prickly and defensive when surrounded by Elves, but when relaxing amongst themselves they were roughly affectionate, laughing as they punched or wrestled with one another, playing small jokes.

Their Hobbit seemed content amongst them, a little shy but easily drawn out by the laughing one with the swoop-eared hat and congruent swooping mustache.

All but one of the Dwarves seemed content to rest and set up their camp on the veranda, breaking furniture for a fire (He made a mental note to see that a stack of firewood was discreetly provided to them).

The last Dwarf was even more fascinating than the rest, and Lindir found his eyes drawn to him more than the others. He had oddly impressive hair, swept up into tattered star-points, and braided eyebrows, which was not something Lindir had even thought possible. Lindir wondered if he was perhaps their scout. He hadn't stilled even for a moment, wandering in a crosshatched pattern over the vicinity of the Dwarf camp, sliding through narrow passageways, climbing up and over walls and trees almost as skillfully as an Elf. Lindir hadn't known that Dwarves had that sort of skill, he was certain he had read somewhere that they were all terrified of heights, but here was one dancing light-footed across roofs.

There was nothing like direct observation to dispel myths and overcome prejudices.

The Dwarf looked nervous, jumpy, fidgeting every time he sat still, pacing when he wasn't exploring, and after a while of observation Lindir began to wonder if maybe there was something wrong with him. Surely by now he realized that he and the Company of Thorin Oakenshield were safe in Rivendel? Did he hate and distrust Elves so much that he could not relax for even a moment in their home? But even Thorin himself had settled into a watchful rest.

The Dwarf paced in circles for a while, absently flicking a knife in and out of his sleeve and then flashed a terrifying smile as he seemed to come to a decision. He finally returned to his group, sharing a word and a laugh here, a touch there, working his way carefully through the group. Eventually he settled down between the deaf one and the prickly-tempered redhaired one and began to tell a joke or a story... something that had them both laughing beside him, his arms around their shoulders.

This seemed to anger the big, bald, tattooed, gruff and terrifying one, who stood up with a huff and stomped away.  
The twitching one wrapped up his conversation quickly and ducked away from the group, climbing up and over things as light as a cat, shadowing the big one unobserved.

Lindir was as surprised as the tattooed Dwarf when the smaller one jumped him, holding a nasty-looking curved blade to his throat and another long thin one that he'd pulled out of his sleeve to his back. (not the same blade he'd been flicking out of his sleeve earlier) The Dwarves had put on such a unified front earlier, it was surprising to see that there were apparently deep rifts in their party. Lindir _really_ hoped that there wasn't going to be a Dwarf murder in Rivendell, because he was certain that Thorin would blame an Elf, and not trust him as an eyewitness.

The twitching Dwarf seemed to be whispering to the big one, lips almost... no, not almost, lips definitely brushing the ragged bitten ear.

The big Dwarf, who was deep red with rage, seemed to agree and was released. The smaller one flashed that terrifying smile of sharp teeth and glowing eyes, put away his knives and ducked away through the passages he'd been exploring earlier.

He was followed by the big one, leading in a wandering path to a little secluded spot near a bathhouse – a lovely little space to have a quiet picnic with a lover, followed by an intimate, leisurely soak, and then, if things went well, an invite home to bed... Lindir had used it himself a time or two. It would break his heart if it were sullied with death...

Quite suddenly the two Dwarves were all over one another, the smaller one slamming himself against the wall, pulling the big one in, their bodies grinding hard together.

Oh.

Lindir... Lindir knew he really ought to be looking away, they clearly thought they had privacy, but...

The big one ran his hands over the tattered hair of the twitching one, and the twitching one flicked yet _another_ knife out of his sleeve to push the hand away. (the small Dwarf had at least three knives in there. Lindir wondered how many he had. Lindir wondered if all the Dwarves had knives hidden in their sleeves. Lindir wondered if all Dwarves propositioned each other with knives to their throats... perhaps it was considered romantic? Lindir wondered if pulling a knife on a lover was normal during Dwarf relations, because it didn't seem to have phased the big Dwarf.)

The Dwarves broke apart, removing their clothing, the smaller one clearly directing the larger.

They were extremely hairy. Lindir had never seen a naked Dwarf before, nor had he ever particularly wanted to. They were... well... they were _impressive_ in a way, the tattooed one in particular, built thick and gnarled, heavy tattoos all over him in the geometric patterns Dwarves seemed to prefer, his body bitten deep with jagged scars. The smaller one was practically slender beside the other, but still built with thick muscles and a heavy line of reddish hair running down his stomach.

With absolutely no preamble, no kissing, no cuddling, no _foreplay_ whatsoever, the smaller Dwarf had mounted the larger, eyes rolling back in obvious pleasure as he worked the other inside. The big Dwarf's face was a picture of astonishment.

Surely... surely this was not normal for Dwarf relations? Did Dwarves not kiss? Did Dwarves not enjoy physical intimacy? Lindir considered himself not inexperienced in the ways of love, young though he was, but this was... inexplicable. Love was a thing to be cherished, nurtured, pampered... soft candlelight and slow exploring kisses and scented oil massages leading slowly, slowly toward more as the hours of the night wore on... love was a delicate thing, grown like a seedling into a tree, each leaf and branch explored and enjoyed, staving off the eventual end for as long as possible until neither partner could handle more and they devolved together into the soft trembles and gentle cries of climax.

Lindir watched the rough copulation of the Dwarves... it was, it was certainly not _lovemaking_ that they were doing. Something else entirely. Something hot and messy and desperate, the big one's hands on the smaller's hips, grinding him fast and hard... it was like _nothing_ Lindir had imagined before. It was wild and unfettered and... and...

Lindir drew back in his cloak, aware that he had crawled forward to the front of his perch on the cliffside as he stared... suddenly aware of his elevated breathing and an uncomfortable pinch in the front of his breeches.

Oh.

Oh, he knew he should not be watching his. He should look away, he should watch the main group of Dwarves. Yes. He would do that... he would...

Lindir pulled his arms into his cloak, loosening the ties of his breeches to give himself more room and lessen the discomfort.

He watched in shock as the smaller Dwarf grabbed a handful of the larger's beard, sneering something down at him with utter contempt visible in every line of his face and body.

Lindir's hand, loosening his laces to adjust himself, froze on his straining erection as the terrifying tattooed Dwarf roared in rage, throwing the smaller one off of himself and pouncing on him to pin him facedown to the ground and

Oh!

Only the look of undisguised and unmistakeable joy on he had seen on the smaller Dwarf's face as he was thrown stopped Lindir from trying to put a stop the the violence he was witnessing... only the way the smaller was twisting and bucking his hips, clearly striving to get the most out of the brutality being inflicted on his body that surely _surely_ would break him, would injure him permanently... wouldn't it? Was violence of this sort normal for Dwarf relations, to follow after propositioning with a knife?

The big Dwarf was pounding himself into the smaller, crushing him into the ground, a look that certainly looked like rage on his face, his gnarled muscles huge and tight, clearly using all of his strength... but the smaller, the smaller seemed to be in bliss as he bucked into the violence.

What... what must it feel like to be taken in that way? So rough and so... passionate? To be dragged through the stages of arousal that quickly, that intensely?

Lindir's entire body clenched at the thought, a seed of heat growing inside him, and he became aware that his hand had somehow made it inside his breeches and he was gripping himself tight, stroking fast and hard...

Oh, he should stop. This was not right. He should look away. He _would_ look away...

There was a change in the wildly copulating Dwarves, the bigger's motions growing rougher, less coordinated, and the smaller reached under himself to bring himself off with what seemed to be a scream. Lindir had never seen a climax like that, the smaller Dwarf's entire body clenching and bucking, followed quickly by the tattooed Dwarf, who's eyes rolled back in his head as he drove himself harder and wilder into the smaller, mouth falling open, head thrown back...

What must it feel like to drive that powerfully, that fast, that wild... to feel a lover climax that _hard_ around you?

Lindir's hand tightened unconsciously where he worked himself, and combined with the thought was too much, too much, the seed of heat unfurling through his stomach, Lindir's body shivered and he collapsed, he spending into his hand, choking back a small cry as he saw the bigger Dwarf fall forward, _biting_ the smaller Dwarf as his body bucked and trembled through his climax.

So vicious, so vicious it couldn't be right... it couldn't be right, could it? It couldn't feel good, could it? It shouldn't be something he was trying to think up a way to try to suggest to a lover without frightening them, was it?

Lindir briefly closed his eyes, his sudden arousal fading, replaced by embarrassed shame.

He should not have intruded in such a way, lovemaking was a _private_ thing, and they could not have known that they could be watched, he should not have. This was not at _all_ what Lord Elrond had meant for him when he gave him the task of watching Dwarves!

His eyes opened to see the smaller Dwarf swaggering away into the bathhouse, a loose grin on his face and all his previous tension evaporated from his body and his hair now _utterly_ disheveled; the big one still lying on the ground, an astonished look on his face.

Did Dwarves dispense with after-lovemaking affections too? That seemed so... so... wrong. No. It was the _best part_ , how could they?

Dwarves did things wrong. All wrong.

Lindir went over all that was wrong with Dwarven lovemaking as he carefully cleaned himself. Dispensing with all affections, _biting_ one another, _throwing_ one another into the ground, pounding in as hard and fast as possible with no regard for duration, abbreviating all the pleasure of a lovemaking into a few short minutes of what must be near-blinding intensity...

He could feel himself begin to twitch back to attention already, ( _already!_ ) and he rested his forehead on the cool stone of the cliff with a desperate groan.

Oh dear,

Oh dear,

 _Where_ was he going to find a lover who would not be appalled by the very idea?


	2. Lord Elrond Notices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Elrond has had a very long time to hone his observational skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is an original for this fic.

Lord Elrond noticed that his assistant, Lindir, was not himself after the Dwarves left. At first it might have been dismissed as the stress of having had to deal with them, but as the weeks rolled on Lindir did not improve.

He carried a wistfulness, a sadness, and at times it seemed he also carried shame. 

It did not affect his work, but Lord Elrond would not stand idle and allow his assistant to suffer alone. Rivendell was a place of peace, and that peace must extend to all those who lived there. 

One evening he drew Lindir aside to walk with him under the moonlight. 

“Will you tell me what troubles you?” he asked. 

“My Lord Elrond.” Lindir's embarrassment was clear, though his tone was polite, “I would not trouble you with such a small and personal thing...” 

“It is not so small if it hurts you.” Lord Elrond said gently, but then allowed silence to fall between them as they walked, allowing Lindir time to think. 

Twice it seemed as though Lindir would speak, but each time the young Elf drew himself back again, changing his mind. Lord Elrond led them to a moonlit bench beneath a tree. 

“In my many years...” Lord Elrond said, conversationally, “There are few things I have not seen.” 

Lindir flushed slightly, not meeting Lord Elrond's eyes as the story spilled out, and it was not such an uncommon story as the young Elf clearly thought it was. He was certainly not the first Elf to be seized with curiosity upon seeing a rough tumble. Left to his own devices he might try to suppress his desires, which would lead to unhappiness, or he might accidentally frighten or hurt a lover, or seek out Men and run the risk of being hurt himself. 

It would be best for him to have an experienced Elf to work through his curiosity with, to burn it out of his system safely and return him to a state of peace. There was only one Elf Lord Elrond knew who's tastes ran consistently to roughness, and he knew that Lindir would be safe with him. 

Lord Elrond placed a hand gently on Lindir's back, “I believe Istion the guard will be able to help you.” he said. 


	3. Lindir and Istion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lindir finds he isn't the only Elf with a rough-sex fetish.  
> Unfortunately, it doesn't get to that, just kisses.
> 
> Also, for anyone who wants a picture of Jed Brophy playing an Elf:  
> http://thorinsmut.tumblr.com/post/48280763266/come-chaos-thorinsmut-partyingardathanyou

 “May I walk with you?”

Istion looked over to see Lindir, one of Lord Elrond's assistants, and inclined his head in a small nod as he continued his peaceful walk through the woods of Rivendell. Long walks were calming after the stress of patrolling for Orcs. The shorter dark-haired Elf matched his meditative pace beside him, hands in his sleeves. He knew Lindir only in passing, but he was a pleasant enough young Elf, and he kept silent as they walked.

The air was rich with the sweet promise of late summer, soft under the rustling trees, a balm to the soul. Eventually their feet led them to the side of a stream, and Istion sat himself on a large stone, Lindir setting himself nearby.

They listened, together, to the burbling of the water and birdsong for a time, before Istion turned to the younger Elf, who was watching him, with a small nod.

“Lord Elrond suggested I seek you out.” Lindir said... and that was interesting. Istion was a fine guard, good enough to be trusted with Lord Elrond's family when they traveled, what might Lindir need guarded that Lord Elrond thought he would be best for... or might it be his more unusual _personal_ skills that were being sought out? Lindir was slightly pink along the ears, which made him lean toward the latter, and that was a pleasing thought. Lindir was attractive, with his wide brown eyes and elegant build. It would be _very_ nice to have him, if that was what he was after.

Istion made a 'continue' motion. Lindir looked away, toward the trees.

“I was assigned to watch the Dwarves, during their visit, and I saw...” Lindir grew pinker along the ears, “I accidentally saw two of them... coupling... and it was...” Lindir's voice drifted off, the flush spreading to his neck.

Istion did not smile at Lindir's embarrassment. He remembered well the first time he saw Men coupling roughly, Rangers, swearing as they pulled one another's hair, egging one another on as they tumbled together in the dirt. The raw passion of it had been shocking and surprisingly erotic. He could well imagine young Lindir being unprepared to see such a thing, if he'd witnessed something similar.

“What was it like?” Istion asked.

“Hard.” Lindir's eyes were not seeing the trees before him anymore, “Fast. Unaffectionate... violent...” He looked toward Istion, and though he did not say it, his expression begged _please don't judge me, please tell me I'm not alone_. Istion could well remember that feeling, long long ago though it had been.

“It requires a great deal of trust to play in that way.” Istion said gently, seeing the relief in Lindir's shoulders. He reached out to run his fingers through the younger Elf's silky dark hair.

“Would you like that, with me?” he asked, and was gratified to see the way Lindir's pupils widened, taking him all in, his breath coming faster.

“Yes.” Lindir's voice was a little strained. “Now?” he asked, flushed with desire and half-afraid, and that would not do. He would be _all_ desire and no fear when Istion had him. Istion could just picture him, all desperate and passionate and _hungry_ for it... it would be beautiful.

“No.” Istion assured him. “We hardly know one another. I have to trust you to stop if I say, and to say if you wish me to stop... and you need the same of me.”

“Oh...” Lindir seemed slightly disappointed.

Istion ran his thumb gently across Lindir's cheekbone, “It would be my pleasure to take the time to earn that trust.” he smiled, “In the mean time... perhaps a kiss before we return for dinner?” he suggested.

Lindir inclined his head in agreement, and Istion stood, offering the shorter Elf a hand up. Lindir accepted, standing very close. Istion did not let go of his hand, raising it to his lips to press a kiss to the back of it, keeping eye contact, weaving his own slightly weapon-callused fingers through Lindir's smooth and elegant digits, holding hands palm to palm. Lindir's positive reaction was unmistakeable, and Istion could not help but continue to smile that such a lovely Elf should want him. With his other hand he reached forward, running his fingers through Lindir's hair before he settled cradling the back of his head, Lindir reaching forward to place his fingers gently on the back of Istion's neck.

Istion pulled him forward to kiss him hard, feeling the younger Elf freeze with surprise... and just an instant before he drew back to apologize for moving too quickly, Lindir melted against him with a hungry whimpered moan, lips parting to yield so sweetly to him, fingers tightening on the back of his neck. Oh, it would be lovely when he finally had him, a lover who would accept and _enjoy_ everything Istion could give him.

Lindir's moan changed to a growl, his hand moving upward to grab a fistful of Istion's pale hair at the base of his skull as he pushed back up against him with his entire body, thrusting hard with his tongue back into Istion's mouth. Yes, even better! It would be a fight for dominance, a never-ending struggle that neither wished to win or lose... it had been _far_ too long since he had taken a lover who could give as good as he got.

They were both panting when they broke apart, Istion pushing Lindir gently away – and the dark-haired Elf did not fight it, a good sign for the trust they would need to make this work.

“Do we _have_ to wait?” Lindir asked, his arousal clear.

“Yes.” Istion said, unable to resist running a fingertip across Lindir's reddened lips, “It will be _so_ much better for waiting...”

Lindir took a deep breath to steady himself, giving a brief nod as he deferred to his experience.

The late-summer air was rich and full under the rustling trees as Istion and Lindir walked side by side back toward the Last Homely House, the promise ripe between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with Art of the kiss, because I am the most spoiled fic author ever.  
> http://mianewarcher.tumblr.com/post/48324148390/axe-omakes-chapter-18-by-thorinsmut
> 
> and Art of Lindir and Istion walking  
> http://asparklethatisblue.tumblr.com/post/65637086068/have-a-lindir-istion-sketch-because-lindir-needs


	4. The Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My Istion feels, let me show them to you.

Lindir was surprisingly sweet.

Most who sought Istion out for his _skills_ chose to do so covertly, did not wish it to be known that they craved un-Elflike roughness.

Lindir did not seem to care. He approached Istion as he might court any lover. It was pleasing to be greeted with a smile and a glass of cool water when he was done with combat practice, to be joined on walks, to be sought out at mealtimes, to enjoy the luxurious comfort of brushing one another's hair.

In public they might seem like any new couple, trading the occasional gentle touch as was proper... but when there were no eyes on them Lindir lost all his shyness – and it was more than pleasing to be dragged into a shadowed corner and feel the younger Elf's passion as they kissed hot and desperate. The blend of tender affection and rough passion was deliciously addictive, but Istion tried not to let himself grow too attached.

“You have _no idea_ what you do to me.” Lindir would tell him, eyes burning as their bodies pressed together, and Istion simply smiled down at this sweet young Elf who's attentions he was so enjoying, and resisted telling him that he _did_ know, that he'd been satisfying the passing curiosity of Elves before Lindir was born.

Istion focused on just _enjoying_ this while he had it, and he grew to know Lindir's moods, how sometimes he wanted to tussle – both of them fighting for control, sometimes he wanted to yield and feel Istion's passion - looking up at him with those wide brown eyes, whimpering while Istion told him all the ways he was going to have him when they finally lay together... and sometimes, like this evening, he wanted to be in control.

Istion lay across his bed beneath Lindir and yielded to the younger Elf's passion, with the occasional struggle to keep it interesting. Lindir had Istion's hands pinned above his head with one hand while his other hand ran across Istion's torso, his tunic laid open between them – he was more heavily muscled than was really beautiful, warrior that he was, but Lindir did not complain.

Istion judged it time to struggle again, fighting against Lindir's pinning hand as he wrapped a leg around one of Lindir's, trying to roll them over... was rewarded with a growl as Lindir bit his neck, pinning him down harder, grinding their bodies together, blunt nails digging into his side. He moaned pressing himself back up against Lindir. They were both desperately hard, pushing against one another through their breeches, knowing they could not _quite_ get enough friction, the long built up frustrated desire bringing Istion to the edge of his control.

Lindir switched sides, biting the other side of Istion's neck, for symmetry, low enough that any marks that did not fade overnight would be easily covered by his collar – always polite even in his passion. Lindir's beautiful slender hand spanned Istion's chest, rolling his nipple between thumb and forefinger, and Istion revised his opinion that they could not get enough friction to finish.

“Lindir, you will make me...” he gasped, feeling the heat of arousal clenching tight in him... and he was far enough gone that he cursed their agreement not to go that far this evening.

“Perhaps I _should_...” Lindir growled, dragging his body slowly and firmly up Istion's, eyes burning down on him, but he'd already released Istion's nipple, and he shifted himself so he was straddling the taller Elf, space empty between their overheated bodies.

Lindir released Istion's pinned hands, wrapping his arms around Istion's neck and dropping his forehead to Istion's shoulder as Istion wrapped his arms gently around the slender young Elf who trembled atop him.

They both breathed deeply, steadying themselves, and Lindir relaxed slowly until their bodies were back in contact, though they remained unmoving.

“I _burn_ for you.” he said, breath warm against the bare skin of Istion's neck. “I burn for you in every inch of my being with a fire I have never felt before... until sometimes I am afraid it will kill and consume me.”

“It will not kill you.” Istion soothed, gently stroking Lindir's back... but it was time. Lindir trusted him, and he trusted Lindir, and as much as Istion had been enjoying Lindir's sweet courting it would not be fair to him to prolong it unnecessarily.

It was time.

“I go patrol for Orcs tomorrow.” He said, smiling slightly to himself at Lindir's trembling indrawn breath... seeing Istion sweaty and armored put the younger Elf in a very _yielding_ mood. Istion's control had nearly broken last time, pinning Lindir in a quiet corner, grabbing a handful of hair to pull his head back, his fingers in the heat of Lindir's mouth while Istion whispered how he would force him to his knees and use his mouth for his pleasure.

Lindir's answering whisper of 'please' had nearly undone him.

Tomorrow, with Lindir's permission, he would not resist.

“It grows late.” Lindir said, “I would not have you patrolling for Orcs tired.”

“Mmm...” Istion agreed, though considering the state he was in, he doubted he would sleep well... especially knowing what he was planning, what would be waiting for him when he returned for a patrol that would almost certainly not see any Orcs.

He released Lindir, the dark haired Elf kissing him gently but hungrily before he left, carefully readjusting his clothes for the sake of propriety before he left Istion's quarters, throwing one last shy smile behind as he closed the door.

Lindir was sweet, and Istion felt a small pang of sadness at the thought of losing him... but it was time.

Much as he enjoyed the build-up, it was time for the beginning of the end.

The tinder had been set.

It was time for it to burn, and Istion would enjoy it for as long as it took to burn out under its own flame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with art!
> 
> http://mianewarcher.tumblr.com/post/48652643490/lindir-istion-from-a-single-spark-by-thorinsmut


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut!
> 
> contains some mildish D/s dynamics, so if that's not your thing...

Lindir heard the pounding of the horses hooves as the patrol returned, matching the pounding of his heart as he spotted Istion, his pale hair streaming out behind him as he moved with the surging of his mount with muscular grace. Lindir felt the all-consuming burn of desire, the ravening beast he did not know how much longer he could contain, and his nails bit into the stone column he stood beside as he watched.

Istion lept from his horse, every motion smooth and powerful. He handed the reins to someone else, his eyes unerringly finding Lindir, and Lindir felt the bright punch of heat at the older Elf's expression, the fire and hunger in those hazel eyes.

Istion did not look away for an instant as he ascended the stairs, removing his gloves as he approached, until he stood close in front of Lindir, looking down at him with such passion that it caused his breath to catch, looking bigger and stronger in his armor, his strong warrior's hand cupping Lindir's face with the softest brushing of his fingertips, his thumb resting on the corner of his mouth.

Lindir would never have imagined that such a simple touch could affect him so deeply, that it would take all his composure not to push into it like a kitten, not to beg Istion to do all the things he had been promising (threatening?) he would do to him. It was not just the touch, though. It was the touch and Istion, Istion dirty and smelling of horses with a trickle of sweat on his neck that Lindir had the perverse desire to lick away, Istion so beautiful and powerful in his armor that Lindir could imagine no better fate than to be used for his pleasure in whatever way he saw fit.

Istion's thumb rubbed slowly along Lindir's bottom lip, his mouth opened slightly in silent invitation, and Istion pressed in slightly. Lindir flicked his tongue against Istion's thumb, disregarding any eyes that might see them. Istion cursed softly in Westron, swallowing hard as he stared at Lindir's mouth, before he lifted his eyes back to Lindir's.

“I would have you, if you are ready.” Istion's voice was quiet, but there was no denying the _hunger_ in it.

 _Finally_.

Lindir might have thought his involuntary whimper was answer enough, but he knew by now that Istion required his answer in words as well as reactions.

“yes, _please_ yes.” Lindir could not hold himself back from stepping forward slightly, so their bodies nearly touched. Istion leaned in, lips parting as though he would kiss him rough and hungry right there where anyone could see with no regard for propriety... but Istion drew himself back quickly, turning away.

“Walk with me.” he said, more of an order than a request, and Lindir complied, hurrying to keep up with the taller Elf's long strides.

The instant the door was closed behind them in Istion's quarters Lindir found himself shoved against it, Istion's mouth desperate and passionate against his own, the press of his armor hard against Lindir's body.

Lindir was trembling when Istion broke the kiss, burning with the need for _more_.

“If at any point you do not enjoy...” Istion began, the same speech he'd been giving at every new step they'd taken.

“I say _stop_.” Lindir interrupted.

Istion nodded, “And if you cannot speak...”

Lindir tapped Istion twice on the arm, “I know, please, I _need..._ ”

Istion shut him up with a kiss, tongue thrusting hard into his mouth as though he were using it for his pleasure the way he'd said he would, and Lindir melted at the thought.

“Do not hesitate to use them.” Istion ordered, voice thick with passion as he grabbed a handful of Lindir's hair close to his scalp, a rough pull.

“...yes...” Lindir whimpered as Istion moved him so the taller Elf was leaning back against the wall, Lindir in front of him.

“Knees.” Istion said, pushing him down slightly, and Lindir sank down willingly. He had waited _more_ than long enough. He wanted roughness, he wanted passion, he wanted _all_ of Istion. He wanted to pleasure him, and be pleasured by him, he wanted to _taste_ him and feel him, to have him and be had by him. He could not think of a better way to begin.

Istion had quickly unlaced his breeches and pushed them down, freeing his arching erection, pink- flushed and beautiful to Lindir's hungry eyes.

He pulled Lindir forward and he opened eagerly, tasting warm skin and the salt of his sweat and smelling the horses still on him as Istion pressed himself deep. It was dirty, and he knew he ought to be disgusted by it, but Istion moaned his name as he thrust into his mouth and Lindir did not care. He reached up, grasping the base of Istion's erection so it could not go too deep and gag him, guarding his teeth with his lips and using his tongue as much as he could while Istion pleasured himself in his mouth, holding his head still and thrusting, it was rough and hard and Lindir struggled to adjust to it, needing to give Istion all he could. It was so different from any previous experience it might as well have been his first time.

“...Lindir...” Istion groaned, and Lindir looked up at him, feeling Istion's erection jump with arousal in his mouth when their eyes met, Istion swearing quietly in Westron, distant and beautiful and strong in his armor. 

“You're so good, so beautiful like this...” Istion stroked the side of his face with one hand, the other still on the back of his head, holding him steady against his onslaught, “I've dreamed of this, of your mouth...”

Lindir moaned and Istion swore again, throwing his head back as his fingers clenched in Lindir's hair.

“Oh, you will undo me before my time...” Istion groaned. Lindir reached down to loosen the ties of his breeches, which had grown uncomfortably tight, stroking himself lightly with one hand in time with Istion's thrusts.

 

His lips felt numb from the friction, his jaw and knees growing sore, but Istion's moans, his hands clenching and unclenching in Lindir's hair, urged him on. He'd seen small glimpses of Istion impassioned like this, usually just before he called a stop to whatever they were doing... to look up at him and see him in such pleasure... it was far too beautiful...

“Would you like to finish me like this, or would you prefer it if I _fuck_ you.” Istion asked, the Westron word harsh on his tongue and Lindir moaned as eloquently as he could that yes, he would like that, the unfurling seed of arousal in him growing hot at the thought.

“The second?” Istion asked, not slackening his pace as he thrust into Lindir's mouth, and Lindir moaned as affirmative a noise as he could.

Istion petted the side of his head, “It will be hard, is that what you want? For me to _fuck_ you, to take my pleasure from your body as roughly as I like?” Lindir whined, nodding as much as he could with Istion still thrusting into his mouth.

Istion pushed him back, and then pulled him to his feet to kiss him with a hard biting kiss, walking him backward toward the bed as his hands flew over Lindir's buttons, removing his jacket and tunic from him, pushing down on his breeches and Lindir kicked his boots off, stumbling backward as he did everything he could to help get himself naked as quickly as possible.

Istion pressed him back against the bed, armor cold and hard against Lindir's naked skin.

“Say it.” Istion growled, “Say what you want.” and his teeth were sharp along Lindir's collarbone. Lindir's nails scrabbled uselessly against Lindir's armor, and Istion was strong and distant and burning with passion it would be _terrifying_ if Lindir didn't know that he was in control, that a single word was all it would take to bring everything to a complete stop... and he had waited _so long_ wanting this.

“I want you, Istion, and I want you to be rough, and I... I want you to _fuck_ me.”

Istion lifted one of Lindir's legs to his shoulder, reaching for the vial of oil that Lindir was sure had never been on his bedside cabinet before with one hand while he pressed with his strong fingers into Lindir's crease with the other.

He paused, eyes widening with surprise as he felt the slickness of oil already there.

“You prepared..?” Istion seemed to be caught off guard, and Lindir could feel himself blushing.

“Every day for a week.” He confessed, “I hoped...”

Istion swore appreciatively as he poured thick oil from the vial on his fingers before returning them to Lindir's crease to play slickly against his entrance.

“As well I did not know.” Istion said, pressing a finger inside, “I could not have resisted you...” Lindir moaned at the stretch as Istion added a second finger, moving much faster than Lindir had ever had before... lingering only long enough to be sure he was sufficiently stretched that he did not take damage before coating his erection in the thick oil and pressing it slowly against his entrance.

Istion mercifully froze when Lindir's body yielded and the head of his erection slid inside, feeling far far larger than Lindir was used to without the long slow workup that he was used to. Istion rubbed Lindir's erection soothingly with his oil-slicked hand, watching him, breathing hard as he contained himself.

Lindir's hands slid off Istion's armor, searching for something, _anything_ , to grab onto, to ground him. He grabbed Istion's hair with one hand, and Istion held his other hand while he adjusted... and then slowly pressed himself inward, sheathing himself entirely, and while Lindir knew that Istion was no larger than any of his previous lovers his body would not believe it.

Istion moved slowly, thrusting gently into Lindir's body, and Lindir moaned while Istion pinned the hand he held above his head, adjusting the leg over Istion's shoulder, lifting the angle of Lindir's hips.

“How does it feel?” he asked.

“so much... so good... big... ” Lindir was aware that he was not being eloquent, but it seemed to be the answer Istion was looking for because he drove hard into Lindir, surprising a yelp out of him.

Istion paused, watching his face.

“It's good... yes...” Lindir assured him, and Istion smiled bright and dangerous, powerful in his armor while Lindir was sprawled naked, defenseless.

Then Istion slammed back into him fast and hard, and again, setting a brutal pace, folding him nearly in half with the leg over his shoulder. Lindir's hand fell from Istion's hair, ending up above his head where it was promptly grabbed with his other hand, both of them now pinned so he was helpless to do anything but _feel_.

It was... it was... bright heat filling him, the seed of arousal in his belly growing into a sharp-thorned vine, harsh as it outgrew its bounds far too quickly, burning through him, and his body was twisting underneath Istion and he was chanting a litany of 'Istion' and 'yes', and he had never known that his body was capable of pleasure this intense, building so quickly.

Istion looked wild, sweat standing on his forehead as he drove relentlessly, pale hair disheveled, hazel eyes burning down pinning Lindir to the bed as much as his body did so physically. His expression was raw hunger, teeth bared as his pace never slackened. His hand on Lindir's erection had stilled, but now it started again, gripping hard and stroking fast, swirling around the head with an expert flick of his wrist at the top of each stroke, and Lindir felt his climax bearing down on him like a charging Warg.

A scream tore itself out of his throat as his entire body arched under Istion, the pleasure breaking over him, and in him, and through him, and as he spent across his own belly he did not know if it would maybe break him entirely.

 

Lindir climaxed beautifully just moments before Istion reached his own, he slid Lindir's leg off his shoulder and fell across the younger Elf as he finished, cursing the armor that was between their sweat-drenched skin and knowing he would have to clean Lindir's seed from his breastplate and not really caring. He'd released Lindir's hands and he immediately grabbed onto any part of Istion that he could reach.

The smaller Elf was trembling, whimpering, breathing fast.

Fear.

He'd never been driven so high and so hard and now Istion was blocked away from him with armor, denying him the comforting contact he needed.

Istion drew back, tearing his armor off as quickly as he could until he was also naked, wrapping his body around Lindir's. The lovely dark-haired Elf curled into his chest, trembling.

Istion ran his fingers soothingly through his soft hair, rocking them gently back and forth. Lindir took deep breaths, looking trustingly up at Istion with those wide brown eyes. He petted Istion's chest softly with one hand.

“That was so _good_.” he said, and burst into tears.

Istion rocked him gently, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

“I do not... know why I'm...” Lindir sniffled.

“Release it.” Istion said softly, rubbing a circle on Lindir's back, “...so much passion and emotion overflowing, it takes some this way. There is no shame in it.”

This briefly made Lindir cry harder, but it did not last long, the overwhelming emotions that had gripped the younger Elf fading as quickly as they had come.

He cuddled into Istion, and Istion was happy to hold him. They traded a few gentle kisses.

“Will I cry every time?” Lindir asked.

“Not likely.” Istion assured him, glad that Lindir was thinking already of another time... there were few things as disappointing as someone who worked through all their curiosity in a single tumble. Istion pulled a corner of his blanket to cover them, they were cooling quickly now, with the sweat drying on them. As soon as Lindir was up to it, they should go to the baths to clean themselves.

“How was that, for you?” Istion asked.

“It was... all of it...” Lindir thought carefully, “It was so much _more_ than I expected.”

“Good or bad?” Istion asked, and Lindir nodded hard.

“Good.” He said firmly.

“And how are you _feeling_ now.” Istion made sure Lindir knew it was physically he was asking about. Lindir wiggled a bit, a look of concentration on his face, slightly biting his bottom lip – still reddened from when he'd so willingly sucked him earlier and Istion could not resist kissing him again, soft and gentle now that they had all that lust out of the way... it would build up again, in it's own time.

“I may be a little _tender_.” Lindir said, “But not _hurt_ at all.”

“Good.” Istion said, smiling down at Lindir, who settled against him with a happy sigh, reaching around him to hold him close in return.

Ah, Lindir was a sweet one.

Istion would miss him when Lindir was done with him.

For the moment, Istion lay back and enjoyed having him.


	6. the seasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly time just passes in this chapter.

Lindir continued his courting, and Istion continued to find it pleasing to be treated to the combination of gentle affection and rough passion that he was more than happy to reciprocate.

He focused on enjoying it, every moment he had of it, and to his delight Lindir's fire settled into a bright steady burn that showed no sign of guttering out as the seasons turned.

 

Fall faded, leaving the trees stark and bare against the sky, and Istion walked through the fallen leaves beside Lindir, both finding peace in the stillness.

 

Winter came, leaving a dusting of snow on the ground, and they tussled together on the floor in Istion's rooms, as much wrestling as coupling, lying across one another laughing when they were done, Istion marveling as always at the perfect sleek elegance of Lindir's body.

No one was so improper as to mention the pink crescent bite mark on Istion's jaw, but he wore it with pride. Lindir blushed whenever he saw it while it lasted, but the warmth of his eyes promised _more_.

 

They sang together in the vigil for their Mirkwood bretheren slain in the Battle of Five Armies. Lindir, young that he was, had never seen such carnage, did not really know what he sang for.

Istion had, and did.

There was tenderness in Lindir's roughness when he fucked Istion that night, long and hard enough that Istion could barely think by the time it was done, driving out the sorrow, and then held him until the morning when in the clear light everything did not seem so hopeless.

 

The preparation for Midwinter celebrations were Lindir's responsibility, and he made sure that every detail was perfect, but they did not see it to the end. The crept away early to Lindir's rooms where Istion pinned him to a wall and showed him how his throat was able to relax and take Lindir as roughly as he should like to use it.

Lindir collapsed into Istion's arms, trembling with the aftershocks.

“I should... you...” He said, reaching for the ties of Istion's tented breeches.

“No... I need not _every_ time.” Istion told him, shifting them to get the weight off his sore knees, “This was for _you_.”

Lindir purred in happy contentment, pulling Istion down for a deep long kiss that did nothing for the strained fabric of his breeches.

“You must teach me how to do that.” Lindir said, “I would do it for _you._ ”

Istion smiled and lightly kissed those warm brown eyes who's affectionate looks he was coming to crave.

He tried not to let himself grow too attached, but Lindir did not make it easy.

 

The snows of the last heavy storm lay deep around and they curled together before the fire, brushing one another's hair to get out the tangles of their coupling.

“I think I made love half-asleep, before I knew you.” Lindir mused, and Istion could remember saying the same thing to a lover long and long ago.

 

The spring buds burst on the trees, bringing with them birdsong and color. Istion met with a contingent of Rangers to discuss coordinating patrols and the state of Orcs throughout everywhere their influence ranged.

When Lindir joined them, Istion did not hesitate to throw an affectionate arm around him, to pull him close.

Lindir stiffened in surprise at the public show of affection.

“They are Men, they do not see this as improper.” Istion assured him, and Lindir quickly relaxed into him, seeing that no one was looking at them strangely.

When Istion had discussed all he wished with the Rangers, they left to walk together in the rioting colors of springtime.

“You know much of the ways of Men.” Lindir said, cautiously, leaning down to smell a flower.

“Yes.” Istion said.

“Have you ever...” Lindir trailed off, seeming embarrassed at the question he was asking.

“I did not learn the skills I have among Elves.” Istion said. He was not ashamed of the places he had lain.

Lindir made a non-committal noise, still walking beside him, and Istion looked up at the beautiful bursting trees and did not care to think of Elves who did not wish to share his bed once they knew he had shared it with Men. There were fewer of those here in Rivendell, where Lord Elrond himself was half-Elven, but they did still exist.

“Do you often lay with Men?” Lindir asked, and he seemed only curious.

“No.” Istion said, picking up the petal of a flower that had fallen from a tree, admiring the perfect translucent delicacy of it, “Not since long before you were born. They are so... brief...” He dropped the petal, watched it flutter to the ground.

Lindir was watching him, and he saw no judgment in those wide brown eyes.

“To watch a lover wither while I stay unchanged...” Istion shook his head, looking down at his hands. It was far more than he usually said on the subject. Lindir gently laced his slender fingers through Istion's, tucking a flower behind his ear with his other hand, ending with a caress to his cheek.

“You have been so alone.” he said, quietly.

“No.” Istion protested with a smile, continuing walking but not letting go of Lindir's hand, “I have had more than my share of _beautiful_ young Elves.” He smiled at Lindir to let him know that he was included among the number.

 

The Midsummer celebration was beautiful, music and dancing through the night while fireflies blinked through the trees. Istion danced with Lindir, but he danced with other Elves also, and saw to it that Lindir did too.

He would not lead Lindir to think that they would pair together permanently, not when Lindir would wish it back when his fire burnt it's way out. He would not have Lindir feel trapped by expectations when he was done with Istion.

It was not the sort of mistake to make twice.

 

There was a coolness in the air that spoke of the nearing of Fall as Istion set out on his walk to settle himself after his patrol for Orcs. Lindir was busy with work, so Istion walked alone.

“May I walk with you?”

Istion smiled, giving a small incline of his head to invite Erestor to walk with him, Lord Elrond's seneschal easily matching his meditative pace.

After a time they came to a cliff, craggy rock good for climbing, warm in the sun despite the coolness of the air, and they did not need to speak to know that the other would like to climb it.

“Lindir has courted you for over a year now.” Erestor said.

Istion, slightly ahead of him, smiled, “He is sweet, and his fire burns steady.” He said, “I am enjoying him.”

“Have you thought that perhaps it will not burn out?” Erestor asked.

Istion laughed breathlessly, making a difficult maneuver and resting on a narrow ledge.

“Everyone burns out.” He said, “He is taking longer than some... and I am enjoying him greatly, while I can have him.”

“It has been long since I have seen you so happy as you are with him.” Erestor said, “what will you do if he _does_ burn out?”

“ _When_ he burns himself out.” Istion said, bracing himself and reaching down to give Erestor a hand, their eyes meeting, “Then I will have yet another friend with whom I share perfect trust.”

Erestor settled beside him, looking over the valley of Rivendell, seeing the few trees that were starting to change to their Fall colors early.

“Were I in your place, I do not think I would have your peace with it.” Erestor mused.

Istion smiled, and breathed the cooling air, and did not care to think of how hard-earned that peace was.

He had fought long before he learned acceptance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with Art!  
> http://mianewarcher.tumblr.com/post/48885154432/from-a-single-spark-chapter-6-by-thorinsmut
> 
> So, this is the first fanfiction I've started where I have no idea where it's going. I have no seed of a plot in my brain, and I'm starting to feel as though I'm flailing around wondering where the story's supposed to go.  
> If you feel like you have a good idea for it, feel free to leave a comment letting me know! This fanfiction started because Frabbity was chatting with me in comments, so anything is possible!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but it didn't really seem to belong with the previous chapter or the next chapter, so here it is.   
> There should be a smutty chapter up later today, so look forward to that!

 

Sometimes Lindir felt as though Istion was waiting for something, and he did not know what it was. 

They began their second year together much as they had their first – with passion so breathtaking Lindir could still hardly believe it could be real, all the stronger for knowing Istion better.

There were things about Istion that some might think were contradictions. Their coupling might be rough, but the guard had a gentleness in him that Lindir adored. Affection after lovemaking had always been Lindir's favorite part, and it was so much sweeter in contrast after something harder. The intensity of the closeness Lindir felt to Istion in those moments matched the intensity of the passion of their coupling. 

Some might think that someone who preferred rough impulsive passion in his lovemaking might lack control, but Istion was among the most leveled Elves Lindir knew. He had a depth of calm that Lindir could only admire. More and more he found that simply being in the older Elf's presence was soothing... when he was not burning with anticipation for their next encounter. 

Lindir had at first been surprised when he saw how easy Istion was in the presence of Men, but after thought he knew he should not have been... he had simply not thought about what it _meant_ that Istion swore in Westron in his passion. He was in some ways easier among Men than he was with his fellow Elves, slipping into their habits of loud speaking, wide gestures, and casual touches. 

Lindir had asked, once, what Istion's longest relationship had been. 

“Forty years.” Istion had said, and Lindir had been unprepared for the sadness in Istion's eyes when he asked why it ended. 

“The lives of Men are brief.” He'd answered, and Lindir remembered that same sadness when Istion spoke of seeing a lover wither before him. His melancholy had not lasted long, Istion had smiled again, stroking Lindir's hair. 

“I prefer Elves.” he said, “with Elves, my old lovers can remain my friends... and some old lovers still like to play occasionally, so I am not left alone.” 

The simple loneliness in him made Lindir ache, and he would have liked to promise that he would not leave Istion alone to wait for scraps of affection to be thrown his way. He would have liked to promise that he would stay with Istion for as long as he was wanted, but Istion was always careful to steer him away from anything that would speak of a permanent promise. He did not wish to press Istion... but Lindir thought that, if Istion wanted it, he would be happy to give him a promise. 

He had never felt for another lover the way he did for Istion, as though everything in the world were brighter for his presence. 

The seasons turned, and Lindir continued courting Istion, and hoped that in time Istion would consider him suitable for a more permanent promise. 

And Istion still seemed to be _waiting_ for something, and Lindir did not know _what_ he was waiting for. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SMUT!  
> also feet and public indecency.  
> but first feels.
> 
> Lindir made me do it.

Lindir and Istion had made off with some strong wine that probably should have stayed in Lord Elrond's stores, and they sat drinking together. They were comfortable in front of a small fire, basking in the moonlight that came through the large window, brighter for reflecting off the first snow of winter.

Istion had found that Lindir was affectionate when drunk, and he judged they'd likely had enough when Lindir crawled into his lap... they had also finished the wine, which was always a sure sign that it was time to stop drinking.

Lindir ran his fingers through Istion's hair.

“Once, there was an Elf.” he said, “A _beautiful_ Elf, a warrior, powerful and graceful, with hair as pale as moonlight. He was as kind as summer rain, and as calm as the heart of a tree, and his passion burned like the sun.”

Lindir cupped the side of Istion's face with his hand, “...and I loved him.” he ended, quietly.

Istion smiled, “You are drunk, Lindir.” he said, gently. Such words should not be said so lightly.

“That is true.” Lindir said, cuddling closer, “But that does not make what I said _not_ true.”

“I have always been too coarse to be beautiful.” Istion pointed out, wrapping his arms around the younger Elf.

“Sometimes I look at you and forget to breathe.” Lindir argued, “How is that not beauty?”

“Do not mistake lust and passion for what they are not.” Istion said, quietly.

Lindir pulled back slightly, brow furrowing, “I do _not_...”

Istion raised a hand, touching him gently on the lips to silence him.

“You are _drunk_ , Lindir.” he said, keeping his tone as kind as he could. He would not let him say in his cups what he would regret when he was sober, give promises that he would regret when his fire died.

“If you do not wish me to say it I will not.” Lindir said, resting back against Istion, looking away. “Forgive me.”

“It is forgotten.” Istion assured him, but Lindir still seemed uneasy as they sat.

“Lindir... he said softly, pulling him closer, “we burn together beautifully, and I am happy with that. I am happy to share that with you.”

Lindir nodded, breathing deeply before he turned to Istion with a small smile to rest his head against his chest, cuddling together in the fire and the moonlight, and Istion did not care to think of how, if Lindir's fire were to last forever he might enjoy having a promise with him.

But everyone's fire burnt out, and a lover who felt trapped by a promise when they no longer wanted him was not something Istion was eager to experience again.

 

“You _are_ beautiful.” Lindir said quietly, kissing Istion on the brow as he readied himself for his day. They had fallen asleep together in Lindir's rooms, which they did about half of the time... the remainder being taken up by times they fell asleep together in Istion's rooms. It had grown rare for them to fall asleep separately. Lindir remembered his misguided attempt at confessing his love, and he _knew_ he should not have done it, but he _had_ and Istion had turned him down, and he would content himself with remaining just a lover. He could live with that, and he would continue his courting and hope for as long as it was agreeable to Istion. Were there not Elves who courted for hundreds of years?

What he would _not_ live with was Istion not believing himself to be beautiful.

Telling Istion that he still thought him beautiful sober was the closest Lindir would come to telling him that his feelings were unchanged, that what he'd said while drunk was only what he thought while sober. He would not say the words Istion clearly did not want to hear.

Istion gave him an indulgent smile and kissed him before leaving to prepare for his own day.

They both had responsibilities, so they did not see one another again until dinnertime. Lindir steered them toward a specific place on the table, where he had determined that no one would be able to see what he had planned, settling Istion to his left.

They sat with their backs to a wall, the tablecloth blocking anyone from seeing them under the table. The instant they sat Lindir slipped his boots off, sliding a bare foot around Istion's ankle.

“You _are_ beautiful.” he murmured low so only Istion could hear, lifting his cup to his mouth to hide the movement of his lips, “and you are the _most_ beautiful when you are flushed with passion. I would have everyone here see you that way, though they would not know what they saw. I would have you _see_ everyone here see you that way, I would have you notice them noticing your beauty.” Lindir looked up at Istion, waiting for his response to his plan. It was terribly improper, but that was part of why Lindir wanted to try it... but he did not know if Istion would consent to it.

Istion's bright hazel eyes smiled down at Lindir, and he gave a tiny nod of permission.

Lindir smiled as he calmly served himself, while under the table his feet worked quickly, removing Istion's boot so their bare feet touched.

He started slowly, in no hurry once Istion's foot was bared to him. He ran a gentle caress with his toes up the instep, sliding his second foot up under the edge of his breeches to caress slowly down Istion's leg.

Istion's breathing was very steady, as though he were working on controlling it, and he kept up what light conversation there was around the table, as Lindir also did.

Lindir was tracing slow circles on the bottom of Istion's foot with his toes when Istion gave him a small smile from the corner of his mouth and Lindir was surprised when Istion's second bare foot slid in beside his first, giving Lindir's foot a caress in return.

Lindir immediately began paying attention to both of Istion's feet, keeping careful track of himself so that he did not forget to eat and converse normally. Istion had a brightness in his eyes, but that was the only sign Lindir could see of any effect he was having.

He would have more.

Lindir placed his left hand on his own knee, and then, careful not to give anything away by moving his arm too much above the elbow, moved it so his fingers were resting lightly on Istion's knee instead. He started slowly here too, drawing slow circles and curves on Istion's knee while his feet continued caressing Istion's, teasing each of the older Elf's toes in turn.

Istion's nostril's flared, breathing carefully but a little faster and deeper than he normally would. He had excellent control, but he could not prevent the energy he gave off, as though there were a light burning inside him.

“Look around, see how they notice you?” Lindir murmured to Istion, quiet so only he would hear. It was not a big thing, not yet, but Elves who's eyes passed over Istion looked back.

Lindir wondered how many of them guessed anything, but then dismissed it as too improper to be _really_ happening right there in pubic.

Lindir ate his food as normally as he could. It was good food, very good.

He barely tasted it.

His fingers slid slowly up Istion's thigh, and he did not let himself smile as Istion swallowed hard, a subtle flush climbing up his neck. It wasn't consciously noticeable unless you were looking for it, and Lindir chose not to go further, settling for slowly kneading Istion's thigh, his foot stroking up and down Istion's calf.

Istion shifted in his seat, his legs spreading, consciously or unconsciously Lindir wasn't sure, but through it he was still eating normally, though his eyes were very bright.

He glowed from the inside, always so beautiful in his desire, and Lindir was hard-pressed not to stare, to continue behaving normally.

“Three of your guards are watching you.” Lindir mentioned in a murmur, his cup before his lips, feeling the muscles in Istion's thighs tighten as he also noticed the Elves who could not stop glancing toward him. Istion gave Lindir's foot an affectionate squeeze between his calf and the back of his other foot.

“Look at the musicians.” Lindir murmured, giving Istion's thigh a little extra squeeze, not looking at the flute-player who was playing as though she wished her fingers were on Istion's body, her eyes riveted on him.

“You are so beautiful, they cannot stop looking at you.” Lindir kept his lips hidden behind a piece of bread, “Look at them all _wanting_ you.” Lindir took a bite of the bread and rejoined the light conversation around the table. The eyes of their table-mates kept traveling to Istion, who was showing remarkable composure, looking beautiful and vibrant and _alive_ , eyes bright and breathing only a little deeply, the light flush on his neck moving no further, but the muscles under Lindir's hand tensed and trembled, Istion's toes curling into the touch of Lindir's feet.

It was all Lindir could do to maintain his own composure, to not give in to the arousal of seeing Istion so affected, of doing something so deliciously improper in the middle of dinner.

Lindir ate slowly, methodically, and pointed out to Istion every Elf who noticed him. He kept his attentions light but varied, so that Istion could not get used to what he was doing and ignore him, though it didn't seem as though the older Elf wanted to.

Istion's opinion was suddenly in high demand around their table, Elves who might not normally engage him in conversation wanting to speak with him, and Lindir gave him a small knowing smile behind his cup while he gently scraped his nails up Istion's thigh.

The look Istion gave him back burned with hunger, but held an edge of amusement.

Istion was _enjoying_ this, and Lindir had to bite back hard on the surge of desire he had at that thought.

They sat for longer than they might normally sit at table, eating slowly, but eventually Istion shifted slightly away from Lindir's attentions, and Lindir took the hint, releasing him and searching under the table with his feet for his boots to slip them back on.

Istion shifted himself slightly in his chair, subtly enough that only Lindir, who knew what sort of state he was in, would guess that he was adjusting himself so that his arousal would not show when he stood.

Lindir was enough in control of himself that he did not need to... but just barely.

Istion stood, tall and beautiful and still slightly flushed but showing no other outer signs of arousal, dismissing himself from those who still sat at the table before turning to Lindir with a smile.

“Will you walk with me, Lindir?” he asked.

“Gladly.” Lindir smiled, accepting Istion's hand to stand, a gesture that was absolutely proper for a courting couple, made absolutely indecent by the slow way Istion's fingers slid across his and the burning of Istion's eyes.

They walked away together, the perfect picture of decorum, Lindir's hands in his sleeves, Istion's clasped behind his back, their pace measured and calm.

The instant they were in Istion's rooms Istion kicked the door closed viciously behind them and grabbed Lindir, kissing him as though he would devour him, and Lindir responded with a moan, their tongues sliding hard between their mouths.

Istion swore fluently in Westron, fighting with the buttons of Lindir's jacket for a moment before giving up and ripping it open with a growl, sending buttons flying across the room.

Lindir's sound of protest was lost in Istion's mouth as he was kissed hard again, Istion divesting him of his jacket and bending him over backward with the kiss. Istion's hands were rough, sliding up under Lindir's tunic to grip hard into his back, and Lindir fought the desire to yield, to submit and just _enjoy_ the passion he'd inspired.

He fought Istion, kissing him back as hard as he could, grabbing a handful of silky pale hair close to the taller Elf's head and pushing back, his other hand going to Istion's own clothes to begin removing them in turn.

Istion laughed breathlessly as they struggled to remove each other's clothes and gain the upper hand. Istion might be larger and more muscular than Lindir, but Lindir was every bit his equal in will.

When they finally had all their clothes off, their already-overheated bodies pressed tight together, Lindir bit Istion sharply on the shoulder and curled his leg around Istion's trying to knock him down, but Istion was pushing back at him, trying to get him to back up so he could push him down onto the bed.

The result was that they stumbled together across the floor before sinking down into a tangle of limbs, Istion had managed to be on top and he bit Lindir's neck, reaching between them to stroke Lindir's erection fast and hard. Lindir's hand followed, grasping Istion's to reciprocate... gritting his teeth through the fast-building intensity of the pleasure Istion was giving him to twist beneath the taller Elf, getting Istion _just_ enough off balance to roll them over so that he was the one on top, running his blunt nails down Istion's pale chest to leave bright pink lines.

Istion moaned into it, and then he'd released Lindir's erection and grabbed both Lindir's hands in his own, bucking him off and fighting his own way back on top, this time just grinding their bodies together while he kissed Lindir hard.

They fought back and forth, growling and moaning and laughing as they tussled across the floor, against the wall, across the bed. At one point Istion held Lindir still, pinning him to the bed with a fistful of his hair while he poured cool oil across his body, and then their bodies were a slippery mess together as they scratched and caressed, kissed and bit, fought and pleasured with no regard to the mess they made of the room.

Finally Lindir managed to pin Istion down, kissing the taller Elf's throat while he stroked their erections together fast and hard. Istion was close, very close, they were both close, but Istion wasn't fighting anymore and he was trembling, arching up into contact with Lindir's body, his strong warrior's hands digging into the muscles of Lindir's back.

“...Lindir...” He groaned, bucking up against Lindir, his blunt nails digging into Lindir's skin, and it was too much. Lindir's throat released a sharp little cry as his pleasure spiked and he spent into his hand between them, his body collapsing against Istion's as the stimulation of his hand became too much and he released them.

Istion moaned in half-desperate need, grinding up at Lindir's body trying to reach the climax that he was so close to.

Lindir pulled himself together as quickly as he could, breathing deeply, and crawled down Istion's body to take his seed- and oil-slicked erection in his mouth. Lindir still didn't quite have the skill Istion did, but his gag reflex was far weaker than it had used to be, and he could take rougher treatment.

Istion groaned in appreciation, grabbing Lindir's head and guiding him in the fast pace he preferred for just a few moments until he was pushed to his peak and spent into Lindir's mouth, hot and bitter.

Lindir swallowed, making a face and wiping his lips before he allowed himself to collapse across Istion's body. They were a mess of sweat and oil and Lindir's seed, but they could wait a little while before going to the baths to clean themselves up.

“ _Now_ do you believe me that you are beautiful?” Lindir asked, and Istion laughed, holding him tight, his hazel eyes laughing.

“I believe you believe it.” He said, gently.

“You're saying I might have to show you again?” Lindir asked, “I might go too far and bring you off right there under the table, and how would you hide that?”

Istion rolled them over so he was on top, kissing Lindir soundly, “I might not sit and just accept it next time... do you think _you_ would do as well if I were the one teasing you in front of everyone you know?”

Lindir could not hold back a whimper at the thought, and Istion chuckled darkly.

“I think I _will_ try it some time.”

Lindir wiggled himself tighter against Istion with a small questioning noise, and Istion relented. He helped Lindir stand, half carrying him over to the bed where they lay curled together, sharing gentle touches, exploring the marks they had left on one another's bodies.

Lindir felt that this first attempt at getting Istion to believe his own beauty had gone well. He had more plans... though most of them not so indecent and pleasurable as his first. He felt there was a poem somewhere hiding in the back of his mind on the color of Istion's eyes...

Someday he might convince Istion of his own beauty... and perhaps someday Istion might be ready to believe that Lindir loved him, and would accept him as more than just a lover.

There were Elves who courted for hundreds of years.

For Istion, Lindir could be one of them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is Elven vanilla like, anyway? 
> 
> (also feels. always feels)

The air smelled of spring, of rain and mud and buds swelling on trees. Istion and Lindir were together in the baths, sharing a single tub – it was a little indecent, but a common enough practice that it would cause no comment were they caught.

Istion sat leaning comfortably against the end of the tub, with Lindir leaning back against him between his legs. He ran his hands slowly over the elegant smoothness of the younger Elf's body, appreciating it in more than just words.

Lindir made small appreciative noises. Istion had not touched him sexually, not yet, the night was still young. He wondered if Lindir could be convinced to couple right here in the bathhouse, where it was unlikely but _possible_ that someone might find them... Istion could take him bent over a tub maybe, or pinned against a wall... oh, there were so many possibilities and the night was still young...

“Istion?” Lindir said, hesitantly.

“Yes?” Istion prompted gently, raising a wet hand to caress Lindir's cheek.

“Do you want... hmm...” Lindir shifted uncomfortably, seeming reluctant to continue. Istion did not know what Lindir might want to hide from him, after all they had shared.

“Lindir.” He coaxed, “I would have you tell me, whatever it is. If it is not something I can give you, I will say. I will not judge.”

Lindir nodded, “Do you ever wish to make love gently?” he asked, “The way most Elves do?”

Istion closed his eyes, glad that Lindir could not see his face.

The end had begun.

Lindir had lasted longer than most lovers did. He had burned beautifully, and Istion had enjoyed every moment of him. Istion had tried not to grow too attached, but he had done so anyway and it pierced him like a thorn to his heart even though he had known from the beginning that it would end.

Istion had had a long life in which to learn peace and acceptance. Composing himself was the work of only a moment.

He _did_ enjoy making love gently, sometimes. It could be good, but it was always bittersweet, because once a lover preferred gentleness again they were no longer suited to him, and they would not be happy with him. Gentle was not his favorite way, but it could be good, and he would do it for Lindir.

He opened his eyes again, leaning forward to kiss the exposed nape of Lindir's neck, his hair piled all on top of his head to keep it out of the water.

“I can enjoy that...” He said, “Is that what you wish for this evening?”

Lindir nodded.

“And how formal do you prefer?” Istion asked.

“I always favored informality.” Lindir said, thoughtfully, “But, perhaps for contrast we should try it fully formal?”

“mmm.” Istion agreed, it _would_ be a strong contrast. He gave Lindir a squeeze and released him.

“I need to prepare myself.” Istion said, “Shall I meet you in your rooms in an hour?” Cultivating the right mindset for a fully formal lovemaking was not always easy for him, an hour should give him enough time.

To have Lindir that way would be beautiful, intimacy of a different sort than that caused by the absolute trust needed for their normal rough play.

“Yes.” Lindir said, moving to allow Istion to leave the tub, smiling up at him as he stood. Istion rested his fingertips gently against the younger Elf's cheek, a gentle touch.

He was so lovely, and so sweet, and he had burned so strong.

Istion dried himself quickly and left.

 

Istion had groomed himself in the traditional way, the ritual helpful to clear and settle his mind. He dressed himself in a simple robe.

He walked to Lindir's rooms in a state like meditation, steps smooth and measured, mind calm. He opened the door to see Lindir clean and poised, seated on the bed wearing a simple but beautiful robe, the traditional single new candle and three vials of different scented oils on the nightstand.

Lindir gestured him inside, and he closed the door quietly behind himself.

Istion lit the candle.

Lindir gestured him to seat himself before him on the bed, and he settled himself, their eyes meeting, and they breathed.

Istion breathed deeply through his nose, filling himself to the brim, releasing the breath smoothly as Lindir breathed in... and as Lindir breathed out Istion breathed in, no sound escaping them, no part of their bodies touching, and their eyes never leaving one another's.

Later there would be the touching of fingertips, the gentle play of lips on skin, the revealing of bodies, the slow slow exploration of every facet of a lovemaking that would last as long as they could make it last, flowing through the traditional forms to a shared climax as gentle as that which preceded it.

For now they looked into one another's eyes, Istion looking through Lindir's wide brown eyes into the very heart of him, while Lindir did the same to him.

And they breathed.

 

Lindir lay with his head against Istion's chest, and Istion held him, stroking his hair, Lindir's arms around him in turn.

“That was _nice_.” Lindir said, contentedly.

“Yes.” Istion agreed, because it had been. There was nothing wrong with the traditional ways, he enjoyed them on occasion, and Lindir had played his part beautifully.

“I think I missed this.” Lindir mused. “it has been a long time...”

“I understand.” Istion said, smiling through the thorn in his heart. Lindir had had his fill of Istion's coarseness, he had burned out his curiosity, and Istion had been lucky enough to benefit from it while it lasted.

To try to keep courting one another would only lead to pain for them both, Istion _knew_ that, if they no longer held the same desires. Istion would not see Lindir made miserable trying to find in himself a desire for roughness he no longer carried, and Istion would not make himself miserable trying to content himself with nothing but the palest sort of lovemaking.

It was for the best that Lindir had not tried to give him a promise after the one drunken attempt, there were no ties or expectations binding them.

Everyone burned out eventually.

Istion was lucky that sweet Lindir had lasted as long as he had.

He pressed a kiss to the top of Lindir's head and carefully extricated himself from the younger Elf's arms.

“Sleep well, Lindir.” he said, with a soft caress to the side of his lovely face.

He did not say “I will miss you.”

He put his robe back on, blowing out the nearly-spent candle before he left for his own rooms.

Istion had had a long time to learn peace and acceptance, but he did still sometimes weep. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter.  
> Sad chapter.  
> There may be another chapter later today.

Rangers rarely turned down the offer of an Elven archer to accompany them for a season, especially if the Elf in question were as well-known to them as Istion.

It was easy enough for Istion to see that his responsibilities in Rivendell would be cared for in his absence.

No one said anything to him about his sudden departure. It was well enough known that he favored the company of Men – yet another un-Elflike trait he carried.

He packed lightly, for walking, and met with the Rangers in the early morning.

Rivendell was a place of peace.

He would return when he could share that peace.

 

Istion had drawn back from him, and Lindir thought that it was just that the older Elf was busy... he seemed to be constantly speaking with guards and Rangers, coordinating the spring patrols. Lindir did not remember him being _so_ busy the previous spring.

After another night alone and at another breakfast that Istion did not attend Lindir began to worry that Istion was trying to avoid him when he, by chance, overheard that Istion was leaving with a group of Rangers for the season.

He caught them as they were making their final preparations, milling about as they settled their packs and discussed where they would go. Istion was speaking with a few of them in Westron, as always looking comfortable in their presence.

Istion noticed him and dismissed himself from the Rangers, walking over to greet Lindir politely.

Politeness, when he was normally so informal, especially when he was among Men.

“You are leaving?” Lindir could think of nothing more intelligent to say, in his confusion.

“Yes.” Istion said. He looked beautiful as always – tall and strong with the golden light of morning caught in his pale hair, but he felt distant, as though there were a door closed to Lindir behind his eyes.

“When do you return?” Lindir asked, needing to bridge the distance suddenly between them. He dared, since there were only Rangers to see, step forward and place his hands on Istion's chest, looking up into his eyes, searching for _him_.

Istion made a small sound, as if of pain, and before Lindir could try to understand it Istion had grabbed him and pulled him roughly forward for a kiss that was too hard, all take and no give, sharp teeth and pulling lips. One of Istion's strong hands was on Lindir's back, the other in his hair, pulling him in close. Lindir's hands slid upward and he wrapped his arms around Istion's neck, holding on tight against the assault. He could not help the whimpered sound of half-protest that came out of his throat as Istion ravaged his mouth, aware only vaguely that the Rangers were whistling and cheering.

It was so rough and wild and passionate, things he usually loved of Istion... but there was a _wrongness_ to it.

Lindir was trembling when Istion released him, pushing him away gently but firmly. Lindir's lip stung and he touched it, looking in shock at the blood on his fingers and up at Istion – his lips reddened and the distance still between them, the door closed firmly behind his eyes.

Istion wiped his lips, “Do not wait for me, Lindir.” he said. “I cannot be what I am not.”

He turned away, striding gracefully through the group of Rangers, picking up his pack with a smooth motion and speaking in Westron, urging the Rangers not to waste the morning waiting.

Within moments the group had coalesced and moved out, walking quickly out of eyesight while Lindir still stood in confusion.

Istion...

Istion no longer wanted him.

He had always steered Lindir away from anything that spoke of a promise, and how many times had he mentioned that he'd had many lovers? One does not gather many lovers by being content with just one.

What did it matter that Lindir was willing to court Istion for hundreds of years if Istion were not willing to be courted any longer?

Lindir reached out blindly to lean heavily against a pillar, trying to breathe through the sudden tightness in his lungs.

He wondered briefly if this pain was what caused Elves to fade.

No.

No he would _not_.

If Istion had endured after watching a lover slowly age and die over forty years, then Lindir could endure this.

It had been brief, and it had been beautiful, and he did not _know_ when he might ever again find a lover with whom he could share what he had with Istion, and he would endure.

He walked slowly, finding his way into the trees that were brimming full of a spring promise that seemed dull and gray to him now.

It was when he saw the green of a tight-furled flower-bud that suddenly struck him as the perfect image to complete the poem on the ever-changing hazel of Istion's eyes he had hoped to sing to him under the midsummer moon, that Lindir broke into tears.


	11. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erestor sticks his oar in again.

The offer was made lightly.

Just the friendly offer of a tumble with no commitment.

Istion and the small group of Rangers he was traveling with were resting in an inn, enjoying some fine ale and looking forward to real beds after so long in the wilds.

He was a handsome young Ranger, in the way of Men, broad-shouldered and gold-haired, and Istion enjoyed his company.

With his hair and the shape of his jaw he might well be the distant grandson of the man Istion had loved in his youth.

He could not do it.

He could not take this Ranger to his bed, enjoyable though it would likely be, to turn around next to see him scarred and gray, to turn around again to hear of his death. The lives of Men were so _brief_.

He could not with the memory of Lindir's body still soft against his skin, those wide brown eyes looking up at him... not while he was still wishing there was just _one_ other Elf in all of Middle Earth who's fire did not die and that that Elf were Lindir.

Istion had long learned acceptance. It had been a very long time since a lover had affected him as much as Lindir had, to shake that acceptance.

Istion turned the offer down as gently as it had been made, and the Ranger accepted it with good grace.

“I'd not take me either.” He smiled, “If I had someone at home as pretty as the Elf who sent you off.”

Istion did not have the heart to tell him differently.

 

 

Erestor had asked to accompany Lindir on one of the long walks he took when he needed to find peace in watching the seasons unfold.

When Erestor began to speak, Lindir listened in silence. At first because it was clear Erestor assumed that Lindir had been the one to leave Istion and Lindir did not have the heart to correct him... and then because Erestor clearly had many more assumptions and Lindir did not understand what he was saying... and then he listened in silence because what he was beginning to understand had driven all the words from him.

Finally he stopped walking and breathed carefully. He put his hand on a tree and tried to remain calm. He could feel his hand trembling where his nails bit into the rough bark of the tree.

“How many.” Lindir said, quietly.

Erestor turned to him with a raised eyebrow, “how many..?” He clearly did not understand.

Lindir took a deep breath, and then a second when he realized the first had not been enough to steady him.

“How many lovers have used him and cast him aside as though he were a... a _toy_ ? A plaything they grew tired of? How many times has he been treated as a curiosity and _discarded_ as though he were not the very... the _very best_ and _kindest_...” Lindir's voice choked off as Erestor took a step back in alarm. Despite his best efforts Lindir had surged forward to the end of his arm, his hand gripping into the tree bark the only thing holding him back.

Lindir puled himself back to the tree, not breaking eye contact with startled Erestor. He breathed carefully and tried to calm his anger.

“It is not _like_ that...” Erestor tried.

“ _Do not_ tell me it is not like what it is!” Lindir snarled, “Just, _how many._ ”

Erestor blinked in surprise at Lindir's anger.

“I do not know.” he said, gently, “Most Elves do not choose to court him openly.”

Lindir could not stop the soft keening sound that escaped him as that thought drove like a dagger into his core. He turned away from Erestor, hid his face against the tree.

Oh Istion. Istion who had endured so much more than Lindir had ever known and through it all was still _kind_. How much of that calm he held was from necessity? Had been learned out of pain?

In his place... in his place Lindir would have turned hard and bitter, but Istion still called those who would not even court him openly, had used and discarded him, his _friends_.

No wonder he had left, if he thought Lindir was doing what so many before had done to him.

“Why?” he asked, and his voice was far closer to tears than he would have liked.

“Some might not wish to be known to have un-Elflike tastes.” Erestor stated simply, and Lindir turned back toward him, glaring him down, his anger back full-force.

“If I am an Elf and I like it, then _how_ is it _un-Elflike_?” he snapped.

Erestor drew back slightly in surprise, but then his eyes creased in a smile and he gave a small nod.

“I had hoped you would feel that way.” he said, “You made him happier than I had seen him in a long time.” He turned away.

“Walk with me, Lindir.” he said, “Courting Istion will not be easy, if that is what you wish to do.”

Lindir wiped his eyes with his sleeve, thrown for a moment by the sudden change.

Erestor had been _baiting_ him?

...but he could forgive that, if it meant a second chance to court Istion.

“I would court him for a thousand years, or longer, if that is what it takes.” Lindir said, releasing the tree, straightening his clothes to compose himself before he resumed walking.

“I do not think it will take a thousand years.” Erestor said, “But it will take _time_... I'll warrant he did not tell you of the Lady?”

“...No.” Lindir admitted.

Erestor considered. “It is not my tale to tell... but after Istion returned from living amongst Men...”

“After his lover died?” Lindir asked, and Erestor gave a slight incline of his head.

“After his lover died he returned to us nearly broken. He mourned long... and then there was a Lady. It was thought that they would wed, but her fire burnt out and she nearly faded from misery trying to stay with him when their desires no longer matched. It brought them both great sorrow.”

Lindir walked, silent under the weight of the story.

“He would not let me give him a promise.” he finally said, quietly.

“It will take time.” Erestor answered, “He will fear trapping you.”

“... _will_ my fire burn out?” Lindir asked, pressing a hand to the center of his chest as if to protect it, the thought was frightening – to lose the passion and hunger that was such a part of _himself_.

Erestor looked at him measuringly.

“I cannot know.” he said, “You _seem_ to burn deep, much the way Istion does, and his fire has never guttered.”

Lindir had to content himself with that, and they walked on under the summer trees.

When Istion returned, Lindir would do everything he could to have a second chance.


	12. Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter.

Lindir was aware of it when Istion returned to Rivendell in the company of the Rangers.

He resisted the urge to find him immediately. Istion would be weary, and Lindir would speak with him when he was refreshed and his mind clear.

By luck, perhaps, they met at breakfast the next morning. Istion acknowledged Lindir with a small nod before setting himself with the guards to eat, sharing news.

Lindir tried not to stare as he ate.

Istion was beautiful, as always, but he seemed _tired_ and he did not smile often.

When the guards were scattering, their meal finished, Lindir finally approached.

“Will you walk with me, Istion?” he asked.

Istion considered for a moment before giving a small nod, “I cannot take long.” he said, “There are things I must do today.”

Lindir nodded, and they walked together – an aching gulf of emptiness between them as they strode side by side.

They did not go far, Lindir led them past the whispering trickle of a drip waterfall, tiny icicles formed in the night's cold still unmelted by the morning sun, to where a single massive tree grew clinging to the cliff face – wearing a mantle of bright flame-red in Fall foliage.

Lindir stopped under the tree, looking up at it, and then at beautiful sad Istion, who was watching him cautiously.

To have perhaps only _one_ chance was terrifying, but he would never forgive himself if he did not try.

He took a deep breath.

“Istion, I would ask your leave to court you for as long as it takes for you to believe that my fire will not burn out.”

Istion's bright hazel eyes shifted as he seemed to weigh Lindir's words, his brow slightly furrowing in confusion.

“your fire...” he trailed off, and Lindir could see the emotions passing across Istion's face – confusion, sorrow, and disbelief, and then a hope that was terrible in its tiny fragility.

“My passion, my desire, and my _love_ for you have only grown stronger.” Lindir said, “I do not think I could ever content myself with something _less_ than that which we shared...”

Anything more he might have said was lost as Istion reached for him, and Lindir went willingly into the warrior's arms, was held tight against a strong body that was further hardened by the rigors of the wild as Istion took a great shuddering breath as though he would weep.

Istion's travel roughened hand cupped the side of Lindir's face, lifting it to search his eyes before drawing him in for a kiss that began soft – the barest brushing of lips, deepening slowly, slowly, to something hungry but still tender. Istion held Lindir as though he feared he would slip from his fingers, looked at him as though he feared Lindir would disappear before his eyes, as they danced slow and graceful with their mouths.

Later there would be talking, words spilling over one another in stories told as they curled together in the embrace of the tree's gnarled roots, any responsibilities they might have had for the day forgotten. Later there would be tears and promises as they forged an agreement, hedged about with precautions, an agreement that would change slowly over the many years of their courtship as their needs and fears changed. Still later there would be lovemaking in Lindir's rooms, long and rough and utterly _satisfying_ , and they would fall asleep in one another's arms for the first time in many months, and sleep the deep sleep of the completely contented.

All of that later. For now there was only the kiss, two Elves holding tight to one another under the slowly falling flame-colored leaves as though they were the only thing in the entire world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading.  
> I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I did.  
> If you like you can find me on Tumblr  
> thorinsmut.tumblr.com
> 
> <3,  
> -TS
> 
> Now with art!  
> http://mianewarcher.tumblr.com/post/50053549859/from-a-single-spark-by-thorinsmut-this-took


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